. She fought against the peril of it, the
bewildering happiness that welled up--fought against her heart that was
betraying her senses, against the deep, sweet passion that awoke as his
face touched hers.

"Will you love me?" he said fiercely.

"No!"

"Will you?"

"Yes.... Let me go!" she gasped.

"Will you love me in the way I mean? Can you?"

"Yes. I do. I--have, long since.... Let me go!"

"Then--kiss me."

She looked up at him a moment, slowly put both arms around his neck:
"Now," she breathed faintly, "release me."

And at the same instant he saw Geraldine descending the stairs.

Kathleen saw her, too; saw her turn abruptly, re-mount and disappear.
There was a moment's painful silence, then, without a word, she picked
up her lace skirts, ran up the stairway, and continued swiftly on to
Geraldine's room.

"May I come in?" She spoke and opened the door of the bedroom at the
same time, and Geraldine turned on her, exasperated, hands clenched,
dark eyes harbouring lightning:

"Have I gone quite mad, Kathleen, or have you?" she demanded.

"I think I have," whispered Kathleen, turning white and halting.
"Geraldine, you will _have_ to listen. Scott has told me that he loves
me----"

"Is this the first time?"

"No.... It is the first time I have listened. I can't think clearly; I
scarcely know yet what I've said and done. What must you think?... But
won't you be a little gentle with me--a little forbearing--in memory of
what I have been to you--to him--so long?"

"What do you wish me to think?" asked the girl in a hard voice. "My
brother is of age; he will do what he pleases, I suppose. I--I don't
know what to think; this has astounded me. I never dreamed such a thing
possible----"

"Nor I--until this spring. I know it is all wrong; this is making me
more fearfully unhappy every minute I live. There is nothing but peril
in it; the discrepancy in our ages makes it hazardous--his youth, his
overwhelming fortune, my position and means--the world will surely,
surely misinterpret, misunderstand--I think even you, his sister, may be
led to credit--what, in your own heart, you must know to be utterly and
cruelly untrue."

"I don't know what to say or think," repeated Geraldine in a dull voice.
"I can't realise it; I thought that our affection for you was so--so
utterly different."

She stared curiously at Kathleen, trying to reconcile what she had
always known of her with what she now had to reckon with